


baby is good to me

by Anonymous



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Body Worship, F/M, Fluff, Massage, Self Confidence Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-02
Updated: 2017-11-02
Packaged: 2019-01-28 06:14:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,285
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12600080
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Oswald doesn’t want Sofia to see him in pain like this; he doesn’t even want her to touch him when he’s feeling so broken, like his body is a dirty secret best left forgotten.She wants to change that.





	baby is good to me

Oswald is hiding from her.

Not in a literal sense, of course.  If anything, Sofia has seen more of him the past two weeks than she has Jim; Oswald seeks her out like a moth to the flame, mesmerized by her bright, warm light, even as he remains cautious.   Sofia can do this for him, can glow as bright as he needs her to in order to make him feel good, to feel safe.  She'll singe him one day, burn away those grateful smiles and soft eyes he turns on her until there's nothing left but ash.  

For now, though, he has her.

Still, he hides.

A busy day has come to an end, and Oswald is huddled on one end of the drab sofa in his house, making a point of keeping his posture rigid, an animal hiding his wound from predators.  Sofia has seen him paw at his shoulders; she has seen him try to keep the weight off his right foot; he is hurting today, more than usual.  Every time she has urged him to take a rest or, at the very least, some medicine, he has waved her away with an assurance of “I’m fine, no need to fuss.”

She wonders how many times he’s told that to someone.  She wonders how many people he has warded away.

But Sofia is patient.  She crosses the room slowly, the clack of her heels echoing off the dimly lit walls as the distance between them disintegrates.  Oswald pays her no mind, though she thinks she can see his gaze turn shifty, like he has to force himself to look away from her.  He hides away so easily, more so than even the shyest of men she’s encountered before.

Oswald isn’t shy.  He’s _ashamed._

Her stomach drops as she sits and he shudders, even this proximity overloading his touch-starved senses.  But he will not allow himself nice things so easily, this she has learned.  So she moves carefully, slowly, placing one pale, elegant hand to his shoulder.  He grows tense beneath her, eyes cold and afraid as he at last meets her eyes.

“Oswald,” she murmurs, rubbing her thumb against his clothed shoulder.  “Let me help.”

He swallows, jaw clenching.  “I’ve told you, I don’t _need_ your help.  I’m _fine_.”

There’s a wobble to his voice that cannot be mistaken for anything else but denial.  Sofia aches for him when he is like this, she truly does.  “You do so much for the people, Oswald.  Let me do this for you.”

He’s still eyeing her like a dog considering if he wants to bite, but those glassy eyes of his have an uncanny way of revealing more than he bargains for, and she can see him losing his internal battle.

Sofia offers a tiny smile, the same kind she wears around the orphans to help them trust her. Those children are not so unlike the King of Gotham: desperately alone and in need of love.  

“Please,” Sofia whispers, red lips forming the single syllable with precision and maternal warmth.

Oswald pauses, the crackle of the fire filling their silence, and then he gives a tentative nod that has Sofia’s smile blossoming.  She shifts closer, her leg brushing his injured one with just enough contact to reassure him of her presence.  When she reaches for his suit jacket, he cringes away, and she shushes him with a soft voice like she would a stray dog in the street, too afraid to take the food from her hand.

“It’s okay,” she says when his eyes meet hers, wild and nervous. “I need to reach your shoulder.”

Another pause, another baby nod.  Another smile, and she gets to work removing the deep violet suit coat, draping it over the back of the sofa.  Oswald’s still in a long-sleeved, black dress shirt, but he squirms in front of her like he’s nude and under her prying gaze.  Sofia soothes him the best way she can, with a low hum and gentle, circular rubs to his shoulder, trying to loosen up the deep knots.

It takes a good twenty seconds, but Oswald begins to relax, evident not only in the tension bleeding from his shoulder, but the way he unclenches his jaw, the way his eyes flutter like he’s experiencing something truly divine.  Emboldened, Sofia scoots closer, turns her body so she’s facing him.

“Turn around,” she requests, careful with her tone so it won’t come off as a demand.

Oswald reverts to a deer in the headlights, already gulping down air like he’s out of breath.  Sofia says nothing more, just keeps her face open and earnest, her brown eyes soft as a doe.  Oswald obeys, turns so his back is facing her, and when he meets her gaze over his shoulder, there’s a deep color to his cheeks that wasn’t there before.  Sofia’s chest tightens with a new kind of ache.

With better access to his shoulder, Sofia can massage deeper, really working the skin until Oswald _moans,_ there’s no other way to describe the deep sound that spills past his lips.  When she’s satisfied, she moves lower, rubbing down his arm, then lower still, coming to a rest on his right hip - another trouble spot.  Pressing her fingers against the thin fabric of his pants, Sofia kneads even slower than before, and Oswald wriggles away from her touch again with a small, shrill little whine.

He’s trying to hide again.

Sofia’s eyes close when she leans in, gently presses her lips to the back of his head, inhaling the sharp scent of his shampoo.

“It’s okay, Oswald.  I’ve got you,” she whispers into his hair, a secret and promise kept. “You don’t have to be afraid or ashamed.”

Because that’s what it comes down to, isn’t it?  Oswald doesn’t want Sofia to see him in pain like this; he doesn’t even want her to touch him when he’s feeling so broken, like his body is a dirty secret best left forgotten.  

She wants to change that.

He’s shaking with either fear or rage, she can’t tell which, and so she nuzzles her nose into his feathery hair, exhales a warm breath until the tresses flutter.  “You’re so good, Oswald.  Let me remind you and make you feel better.”

It must be the right thing to say, because he’s wiping at his face and throwing his shoulders back with a nod, as if to say _do your worst, Falcone_.  A challenge she is happy to meet as he returns to his hip, digs her fingers in right and deep, just the way to get him to groan in relief.  By the time she’s trailing her fingers down his right thigh, he’s shaking against her, back pressing against her chest in order to chase more heady contact.  Though they’re both clothed, Sofia thinks there’s something even more intimate about this: Oswald allowing himself to be small and taken care of as she pays reverent attention to each aching part of his body, so that maybe one day, he won’t loathe these parts of him as much anymore.  

She massages down his thigh and twisted knee, and when Oswald tips his head back against her shoulder, she presses a kiss to the side of his head.  She can see his eyes flutter shut, pale face illuminated in the warm glow of the fire as his lips mouth words he can’t quite say.  He’s beautiful, she thinks, and when she tells him that, a lone tear trails down his cheek as he smiles.

By the time she’s finished caressing each unlovable part of his body, the fire has long since died, and wisps of smoke curl around their entwined bodies.


End file.
